Wrong Turning
by Elioclya
Summary: Helen hasn't had a particularly good birthday, but when she turns a corner and finds herself faced with ruined walls and crowds of people in strange clothes that's the last thing on her mind...
1. An Unvited Guest

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of Tolkien's work, characters, quotes or otherwise. Don't think I could stand the responsibility!_

Since she'd been walking down a quiet alley way crying to herself in peace, it came as quite a shock when Helen turned a corner to see throngs of people cheering and throwing flowers in the air. For a brief moment she imagined they were cheering for her – it was her birthday after all – but common sense put an end to that theory. Common sense, and the fact that she'd never seen this place before. It looked like some kind of ruin, which was odd in itself, but it even smelled different. Maybe it was just the flowers, but the air seemed somehow newly fresh, as if it had just rained. She stood for a moment with her eyes closed, letting the breeze wash over her, then came to her senses.

She looked closely at the people in front of her; she was standing on one side of the ruins, which seemed to be cordoned off, and the other people were on the other side, all standing facing alongside the ruins' walls, except for a smaller group who stood directly in front of the barrier. Those people were much closer to her, and much quieter; they all stood still and solemn, as if waiting for something important. It was only then that she noticed the clothes they wore, and indeed their hair; those who stood nearest to her all seemed to have long blond hair, with strange helmets, shields and mail coats, not to mention frighteningly realistic swords. Still, at least she knew what kind of celebration this actually was now – it was clearly some sort of re-enactment, although why anyone would want to do that was beyond Helen. The people further away all seemed to be wearing gowns and what could only be called robes – now that she could understand. She looked down at her jeans and t-shirt sadly, and the floor caught her eye. It was paved with white stone, and although it looked well-worn it certainly didn't look like ruins. Glancing behind her, she saw that the whole street she was on seemed to be paved in the same way, with strangely built houses of stone.

Suddenly there was silence. She looked up quickly, half afraid that someone had noticed her and was about to tell her to leave. But she realised very quickly that this was not the case; the few people that she could see were all looking directly away from the ruins, and the silence seemed somehow one of wonder not indignance. She moved quietly closer to the group for a better view, and saw an even smaller group moving towards them, led by a man with dark shaggy hair, wearing a robe of bright white over dark clothing, whose forehead seemed to shine like a star and whose throat seemed to glow green. With him were three other men, one who looked very much like the men she was standing by, another of whom wore only white. Then she tried not to laugh; with the men were four boys, who from what she could see were wearing mail as well.

The group stopped and a trumpet blew. Two men she had not noticed in the group before the gates stepped forward, and behind them another four carried a black box with silver on it. Then one of the two who had gone forward first, who she saw also had dark hair, knelt before the one with the star. Holding out a white stick, he said,

"The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office." But the other man gave him back the stick and replied,

"That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and thy heirs' as long as my line shall last. Do now thy office!"

Then the kneeling man stood and proclaimed,

"Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! One has come to claim the kingship again at last. Here is Aragorn son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor. Shall he be king and enter into the city and dwell there?"

Wow, whoever he was he had a lot of names, thought Helen as the crowds all shouted together in agreement. Then the 'steward' started to speak again.

"Men of Gondor, the loremasters tell that it was the custom of the old that the king should receive the crown from his father ere he died; or if that might not be, that he should go alone and take it from the hands of his father in the tomb where he was laid. But since things must now be done otherwise, using the authority of the Steward, I have today brought hither from Rath Dínen the crown of Eärnur the last king, whose days passed in the time of our longfathers of old." Then he opened the black box and took something out; Helen couldn't see it properly but she guessed it must be the crown. The new 'king' – Aragorn - took it and held it up, and it shone like fire, and he spoke in a language Helen didn't recognise; it was nothing like anything she'd heard before, and she was quite good with languages in general. Then he gave the crown back to the steward and spoke to the people.

"By the labour and valour of many I have come into my inheritance. In token of this I would have the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory." Then one of the boys and the man in white came forward, and Helen noticed that not only was his robe white but he also had a long white beard and hair. Aragorn knelt; the boy took the crown from the steward and gave it to the man – Mithrandir she supposed – who placed it on the king's head.

"Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!" he cried, and Aragorn stood up and the silence became even more noticeable; Helen realised that he really did look like a king, one out of a fairy tale though. Then the steward raised his voice:

"Behold the King!"

Then the sound of trumpets seemed to echo around them, and the King came forward, and the barrier was removed, and he passed the ruined walls.


	2. Stuck

Suddenly Helen was no longer out of sight; everyone was turning to watch the king as he entered the ruins, and she was standing right there in full view. She tried to head back to the alley she'd come from, not wanting to be the centre of attention in front of all these fanatics, but one of the blond-haired men caught hold of her shoulder. He pulled her out of the way as everyone went past, but he kept a firm grip on her.

"Let me go! I'm sorry, I didn't know there was an enactment here, actually I didn't even know this was here, I just turned the wrong way, I'm sorry I spoiled the illusion for you, I didn't mean to! I'll go straight back, honest!" But the cheering was so loud that the man couldn't hear her anyway, and he was too strong for her to get away, not being the fittest of people. Eventually she gave up and crossed her arms moodily, as the people continued to stream past, all of them turning left and heading up the paved street as she stood gritting her teeth on the right hand side. The man holding her continued to watch the procession, but kept her in view as if he expected her to pull out a gun or something equally ridiculous.

At last the noise began to die down, and Helen let out an exasperated sigh.

"Finally, now will you let me go home?"

"I am sorry, my lady," replied the man, not letting go, "But you are strangely clad and I feared you might perchance be some late tool of the Enemy; I must ask you, where is your home?"

"What is this, some kind of joke?" asked Helen in disbelief, "I just live up the road and round the corner, so to speak, it's not far, I just turned the wrong way and stumbled on your little play – well, I say little, it was pretty OTT in my opinion! But anyway, just let me go!" The man shook his hand, clearly a little confused. He beckoned to one of the few remaining blond men who still stood near, watching the two of them.

"Déorbrand, this maiden speaks strangely, and as you see she is clad unlike any I have ever seen; she claims to live near, or so I perceive, and I feel it is our duty to ensure that this is the case. Will you accompany me?"

"Indeed I shall; but allow me first to inform Hamwine." The first man nodded and turned back to Helen, who was looking at them as if they were somewhat mad.

"Honestly, you can drop the act! And I can walk back on my own without an armed guard, thank you very much, I'm not completely incapable!"

"I beg your pardon my lady, but I fear I must escort you; for I cannot risk any blight on the day of the King's coronation; it is too important a day."

"For crying out loud – what's your name? – it's not like it's real! I only want to go home! And surely if you take me back you're spoiling it for yourself?"

"My name, my lady, is Hereláf, and to save more trouble on such a day I do this thing gladly. For never have we seen a lady like yourself, and we fear to allow you to cause the city of Minas Tirith any sadness on its day of joy." As Hereláf finished speaking, Déorbrand came over, nodding to him. "Now, my lady, I ask you to direct us to your dwelling, that we may bid you good day."

Helen could not quite believe this was happening. These guys were so ridiculously caught up in their games that they couldn't even let her go home alone? Shaking her head and raising her eyes to the skies in despair, she noticed something; the set they were using was so intricate that it even had levels, with white houses of stone rising above each other in a huge structure which seemed to be built into a mountain.

"Oh my gosh, you guys actually built this just so you could pretend at this silly game? How on earth did you do that without anyone noticing? That's incredible! When was it built? Overnight?"

The two men exchanged glances.

"Lady, are you sure you are quite well? This city has been standing for over three thousand years, and it was certainly not built in one night." Déorbrand spoke uncertainly, as if he were worried about her reaction; and it was probably wise, as Helen laughed at him in absolute dismissal of his comment.

"Oh come on guys, don't be stupid, I wasn't born yesterday! Next thing you'll be telling me you've never seen a girl in jeans before, or that the king really is a king and not some sad middle-aged accountant who gets bored on weekends, or that your names really are Déorbrand and Hereláf!" She shook her head, still laughing.

"Lady, truly, I fear you are ill; I do not know what jeans are, nor do I know what you mean by calling the king an accountant, but I assure you we are not in jest," said Déorbrand, glancing at Hereláf with a frown. Hereláf nodded, and said,

"My lady, lead us on to your dwelling, but if when we arrive there you have no other to care for you in this malady we shall escort you to the houses of healing where you shall be looked after."

"Please, guys, enough!" protested Helen, holding her hands up as if in surrender, "I'm not ill, I just need to get away from you and your hare-brained schemes, honestly, let me go on my own!"

"That would be most improper, my lady," replied Hereláf calmly, but he was interrupted.

"Will you please stop calling me that!" Helen said, exasperated. "My name's Helen! Call me that! Please! And I'll let you go with me, but stop it!"

"Very well, Lady Helen," Déorbrand answered with a nod. "Lead on."

Still shaking her head in frustration at these two way-too-involved actors, she headed towards the alley, one either side of her. She walked up it and made as if to turn at the end, but stopped short. The men looked at her quizzically.

"Where's the turning?" she muttered with a frown. Then she shook her head as if to clear it and turned around. "I must've gone up the wrong lane, sorry guys," she said out loud, heading back to the street. She looked around, but she couldn't see another alleyway anywhere. She tried that alley again, but all it led to was the entrance to a couple of houses, and there was no turning in sight.

"My lady?" asked Hereláf tentatively.

"How on earth have you done this?" she asked angrily, turning on him. "Where's the lane? You can't have had another house built while I watched, this is just stupid, where is it?"

"Lady Helen, I know not of what you speak; it is quite clear that these houses have been here for many years." Déorbrand seemed almost as confused as Helen, which, she thought to herself furiously, was clearly just a sign that he was a good actor, as the whole thing was obviously some kind of stupid plot.

"You know exactly 'of what I speak' as you put it, so quit messing around and let me go home! As if I hadn't had a bad enough birthday as it is, you idiots have to muck me around as well!" She kicked at a stone that lay on the floor and glared at both the men.

"My lady," said Hereláf hesitantly, "Perhaps you would come with us to our king? He may be able to help you."

"What, you mean that idiot in the white cloak? Oh please, give me strength!"

"Nay, Lady Helen, we are not men of Gondor; we are from Rohan, and so our king is Éomer in light of the death of the King Théoden. Nevertheless I cannot suffer you to speak so harshly of one who will bring peace to the West after recent times. But come, let us escort you to King Éomer. He is young, but he is wise." Déorbrand smiled at her kindly.

Frustrated, Helen looked around again. Then she let out what sounded something like a growl, clenching her fists, before saying through gritted teeth,

"Fine, take me to this Éomer guy. He can't be any worse than this anyway."


	3. Which Way?

Helen was more than a little angry. The stupid game these idiots were playing was getting somewhat out of hand, and she wasn't sure she could take much more. All the same, a small part of her mind had to grudgingly admit that they were very good at their sport, and that part steadily grew as she was escorted up the street she had first entered, past many houses and streets, all built with amazing detail. She really couldn't imagine how they'd pulled it off; unless maybe it was a film set? That was possible. If it had been kept secret really well… for… well, months she guessed. She didn't know how this scale of building could be kept secret, but whatever the explanation it had been.

"So," she said in a falsely cheerful voice, "Is this a film set or something? I mean, you can't just have had it built for this… did you?"

Déorbrand looked at her, a worried expression on his face – or what she could see of it anyway, as both the men were still wearing their strange helmets – then asked in a strange tone, "May I ask what a film set might be, Lady Helen?" She growled again in frustration.

"Will you please stop with the games?" she said as they turned and moved up to the next level of the city, "It's just getting annoying now, well, it just is annoying and has been the whole time, actually. And I'm getting really fed up with it." Neither of the men answered, but instead they looked at each other and nodded as if they had just reached some kind of silent agreement. For the rest of their journey, as they climbed up through what Helen thought was six levels, although she wasn't keeping a proper count, neither spoke, and Helen was left to mull over what was happening.

It had been a very irritating day so far. Well, first it was just upsetting actually. Not one person had called to say happy birthday, not even her mother. She knew she didn't have any friends in Newbridge, but really, it was only a year since she'd moved; she thought someone would have called from Hardfield. Okay, so the last time she'd spoken to her mother they'd had something of an argument, but she hadn't realised it had been that serious. Of course it was her own fault she didn't have any friends in Newbridge; she was much too temperamental at work, and anyway she liked being on her own. It was only on birthdays and holidays that she really felt lonely.

And then she'd walked into a play. Honestly, talk about contrast; one minute you're walking alone in a quiet alley crying to yourself, the next you're suddenly the only spectator at a huge re-enactment of some king's coronation. And then you get lost.

Helen sighed. This was stupid. She really hoped this Éomer guy would help her; she was getting fed up of these two thinking she was ill. Well, pretending to think. Although they were, she had to admit, very good actors.

"My lady," Hereláf said, turning to her, "We have reached the White Tower, where the King and the other Lords are celebrating. I shall go and find King Éomer; in the meantime, Déorbrand will sit with you." Shaking her head to bring herself out of her reverie, Helen nodded, then looked around. She was standing in a white courtyard, with a fountain in the middle surrounded by greenery; but she noticed that there was one dead tree.

"Déorbrand," she said, genuinely curious enough to forget how angry she was for a moment, "Why is that tree dead?"

"It is the White Tree of Gondor, and it has been dead for many years," answered Déorbrand softly. "But it is precious to the people of Minas Tirith, for it is descended from a tree that once grew in Númenor, their ancient home. Now that the King has returned, it is hoped that it will blossom once more."

Helen did not reply; she was mystified by the depth of this role-play. She wondered how she could get Déorbrand to answer the many questions she had; when was it that they were re-enacting? Where had all this really taken place? Was it even historical or some fairytale they'd made up?

She looked up, hearing footsteps; Hereláf was returning, bringing with him one of the men who had entered the city with the King, the one who was dressed like Hereláf and Déorbrand. They approached, and Hereláf spoke.

"King Éomer, Lord of the Mark," he said, bowing to the man, "May I present the Lady Helen, whom I discovered near the gates of the city as the coronation parade entered."

With an exasperated sigh, Helen held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said, in a voice that clearly implied that this was not entirely true. Éomer looked at her, both wonder and bemusement in his clear bright eyes.

"Lady, I greet you in the name of the Mark," he said with a bow. "Yet I fear I must do you a discourtesy; for I do not recognise your raiment and cannot tell whence you came, and it is needful that I learn more of this matter. Before I do so, however, you must be refreshed; you do not look quite well. Come; you shall be given food and wine."

Helen rolled her eyes as he led her into a white building, then into a small room, furnished only with a small table and a number of chairs.

"Honestly, can't you just tell me which way to go to get back to the sane part of Newbridge?" she said as he gestured for her to sit down. He frowned.

"Newbridge? I have never heard tell of such a place, although it sounds not unlike a town of the Halflings; is that your home? Do you live among the hobbits?" Now it was Helen's turn to frown.

"What on earth are hobbits and Halflings?" she asked, interested in spite of herself. Éomer smiled.

"We too had not heard of them except in legend for many a long year, and yet now they walk among us; they are the heroes of the hour, and indeed of the realm. But surely you have heard of the defeat of the Enemy?"

"That's the second time I've heard this enemy mentioned, what on earth's been going on around here? World War Three? Or are you still playing your silly games?"

"Lady, I do not understand what you mean by games, and nor do I understand your origins. I will have Hereláf bring us some refreshment, and then I fear I must call upon the Lord Ar- your pardon, King Aragorn – to aid me in this mystery. For I would say that you were ill, and yet you seem not so; and I would say that you lie, but I know that you do not, for I am one of the Rohirrim, and those who do not lie easily recognise the signs of deceit. And yet what you say is quite beyond the reach of my knowledge to confirm." He spoke to Hereláf, who left with a bow, then sat in one of the chairs. Helen, realising that she probably wasn't going anywhere for a while, sat cross-legged in another chair, and the two sat in silence.

Hereláf reappeared with wine, bread and cheese, then quickly went again. Helen, rather hungry after all her protests, tore some bread off the loaf and poured some wine for herself. Éomer, she noticed, seemed to have closed his eyes, and she was relieved; she hadn't liked the way he looked at her, as if he'd never seen anything like her. Actually she was just getting even more fed up of this whole charade by the minute; it might have been a good joke at first, but now it was just silly.


	4. I Must Be Dreaming

Finally she heard footsteps. Several pairs by the sound of them. Oh great, she thought, more people to argue with. She decided not to bother standing to greet them, although Éomer did, but instead continued to eat the bread, so that when Aragorn, Mithrandir and the other man who'd been with them in the small group outside appeared she had her mouth full.

"Hi," she mumbled through the bread, trying to swallow it quickly. She did so, but it got caught in her throat, so she tried to wash it down with a mouthful of the wine; but the wine was stronger than she was expecting, and she spluttered and managed very impressively to shoot red wine at the white robe Mithrandir wore. She covered her mouth in horror; they might be idiots playing a stupid game, but this guy still looked important – or at least he had done until she'd ruined his white coat.

"I'm so sorry," she said, jumping up and looking round for something to wipe it with. "I can't believe I just did that!" She looked at him with a panicked expression, then realised two things; firstly, his bright eyes were twinkling as if he found something incredibly amusing but was trying not to laugh, and secondly, that the wine had disappeared from his robe. She looked closer, frowning, then shook her head. "Sorry, I thought… never mind…"

"My lady, welcome to the city of Minas Tirith," said Aragorn with a slight bow – she could have sworn there was a grin at the corners of his mouth too – "I hear that Hereláf found you by the city gates earlier this afternoon and that he and Déorbrand are worried that you are unwell?"

"Yes, though I haven't a clue why, I'm perfectly fine, and they've spent the whole afternoon telling me that this really is a city called Minas Tirith and that I'm the one who's mad – they're the ones who're acting out some stupid play!" Helen stopped herself suddenly, realising that she probably did sound slightly mad – although they were obviously loving this winding her up. "I'm sorry, but really, I'm not actually supposed to believe it am I? Come on, you all have ordinary lives and you're just having a laugh – at my expense at the moment, which I am not happy about – and I'd really really appreciate it if you'd give it a break." But they didn't seem to be laughing anymore; rather they seemed worried.

"Gandalf," began Aragorn quietly, turning to Mithrandir.

"Ha! I gotcha!" cried Helen triumphantly, "Earlier you called him Mithrandir, so you're obviously getting your own game confused! You can't pull this one off anymore, so give it up!" But nobody seemed likely to give it up; their faces grew more concerned if anything.

"Child," smiled Mithrandir-Gandalf, "I have many names; Mithrandir and Gandalf are only two. I have been called the Grey Pilgrim, the White Rider, and even Láthspell – ill news. But you, I perceive, have heard none of them, which leads me to believe that you are not of this world. Tell me; does the name Middle-Earth mean anything to you?"

"Are you crazy? It's you lot that don't seem to be 'of this world', is it really so difficult to show me how to get out of this insane set-up? It's a great gimmick, I'll give you that, but really, don't you think it's time to give up?"

"Very well; come with me," said Gandalf gently, "And I will show you what I mean." He led her out of the building to the end of the courtyard. "Look out, and tell me what you see." Helen reluctantly looked over the wall, and gasped. Before her were open grasslands, those immediately before the city littered with tents, with orchards and farms dotted around; and in the distance she could see what looked like another city, set on a river which she could only just see, obscured as it was by a wall that seemed to run right around the city she stood in, reaching right back to the mountains into which the city was built.

"But that's impossible," she whispered in disbelief, "There was a motorway… there aren't even any proper roads… how did this happen?"

"As I said, my dear child," Gandalf said, still in the same gentle tone, "You are not of this world. I know not how you came here, and it is clear to me that you do not either, but you have come from some other place; perhaps the Valar have brought you here for some hidden purpose, or perhaps you or one of us has something important to learn. Perhaps you have simply been brought here for a holiday; but I fear you will not be able to return to your homeland for some time." Helen just shook her head blankly.

"I must be dreaming. This cannot be real. I must be dreaming…" she repeated the words over and over under her breath, closing her eyes, and didn't notice when Gandalf quietly moved away.

Finally she opened her eyes. If she was dreaming, then she ought to be able to wake herself up surely? The thought tried to rise in her that she'd never yet had a dream where she'd actively wanted to wake up, but she ignored it and looked around. All she needed was something to hurt her dream-self, then she'd be shocked into consciousness, without doing any harm to her real self, because her real self was still tucked up in bed and it probably wasn't even her birthday yet. And of course she'd wake up, because when she had nightmares she always woke up just before she got hurt. Right. Yes. A stone.

Helen picked up the sharp stone that lay on the floor next to her feet and gripped it hard, gritting her teeth. She glanced back across the courtyard, but nobody seemed to be around. Very deliberately she cut into the back of her arm with the stone – and immediately cried out in pain and disbelief. It hurt, and it was bleeding. Why hadn't she woken up? This wasn't fair, it wasn't right. Tears pricked her eyes; she turned around and leant against the wall, dropping the stone and automatically trying to stop the blood as she sank to the floor, holding her t-shirt against the cut. Perplexed and more than a little scared, she let the tears flow freely. What on earth was she going to do? More to the point, what was going on anyway? Logic told her two completely different things; first, realistically it was impossible that this place had been built overnight as she'd thought, but secondly, it was even more impossible that it was real and that she'd managed to stumble on another world. So the dream analogy seemed to be the only one that could make sense, but she couldn't wake up, and everything in it seemed so solid and real and continuous, and she was fully aware of everything, so how could it be a dream?

Gandalf came back and touched her shoulder lightly.

"Come with me, my dear," he said kindly, "We shall go and see what the healers can do about that graze you seem to have acquired. Perhaps, too, you could tell me something of where you come from?"

In a daze, Helen let him help her up; she was surprised by how strong he seemed, considering that he looked older than anyone she'd ever seen; older, yes, some small part of her mind mused, but somehow a lot younger too.

Gandalf held her good arm and supported her as they walked; she was dimly aware that they were leaving the pretty courtyard and going downhill again, but she was too caught up in her confused thoughts to take much notice. But soon they entered a house filled with a strange sweet smell, and she suddenly felt much calmer and somehow refreshed.

"What's that smell?" she asked, mystified. "I've never smelt anything like it." Gandalf smiled as he led her to a cushioned chair.

"That is _athelas_, a plant much admired by the Elves for its healing virtues. It has been only lately reintroduced to the Houses of Healing here in Minas Tirith, for Aragorn has himself great skills in such arts, learnt from the Elves."

"Elves?" Helen said sceptically, then shook her head. "Oh never mind, I'll ask later." Somehow she didn't want to ruin the peaceful feeling that seemed to have settled over her.

"And I am sure you will hear much of them; indeed, you may even be so lucky as to meet one. Now I shall go and fetch one of the healers; most are enjoying the celebrations of course, but I am sure someone will be here. I would do it myself, but I think I might receive some admonitions from the more vocal amongst them." With a smile he disappeared, and Helen was left alone again; but this time she just sat and enjoyed the soft feel of the chair and the gentle aroma that filled the room.

_Crecy – Thanks for the review! I hope this is updated quick enough ;-)_

_Southern Gaelic – Wow, I'm honoured! Glad you like it! _


	5. Fit For A Throne Room?

She hadn't been sitting there for very long when a middle-aged man came into the room with a bowl and some sort of cloth.

"Good evening, lady," he said briskly with a nod, "I am the Warden of these Houses. I hear you have managed to harm yourself, and Mithrandir has asked that I tend your wound. Then, perhaps, I can procure some more suitable attire for you. Now, allow me to see…" He trailed off as Helen held out her arm willingly, still feeling the strange sense of peace that had fallen over her. "It is well, lady; the cut is not deep, but it will need to be cleansed thoroughly; there is some dirt that must be removed. It may sting a little." He then washed the gash on her arm – she winced slightly, but reminded herself that it was her own fault – and tied the cloth around it tightly. Seemingly satisfied, he stood up straight and smiled at her. "Now, if you will accompany me, I will see if I can find a dress to fit you; we have some store of clothing in this house."

Following the Warden through another empty room, this time with chairs and tables, it occurred to Helen that she had been acting something like a sheep for most of the afternoon. The only thing she'd done of her own accord since she met Hereláf was to cut her arm, which, it seemed now, had been a particularly stupid thing to do. It didn't seem worth the hassle of arguing though – it wasn't as if she knew where to go even if she did run away. She was probably better off seeing what happened for a while longer; anyway, she was quite excited about this dress. If it was anything like the ones she'd seen outside, she'd be very happy with it.

"Now," said the Warden with a smile, pointing to a chest of drawers in the corner of a small room, "I shall leave you for a while. Will you be able to robe yourself, or would you like me to find a woman to help you?"

"I'll be fine, thanks," Helen said, smiling suddenly. "Thanks for your help, I really appreciate it." The Warden bowed and left the room, pulling a drape across the doorway. Helen admired the patterned material for a moment – it was a pretty sort of blue with flowers embroidered in white – then turned her attention to more important things.

"Wow," she breathed as she opened one of the drawers. It was full of long flowing gowns, of all kinds of materials, in blues and whites and greens in particular. It was like a shopping spree, she thought as she picked out a dress the same colour as the curtain, except that she didn't have to pay; at least she hoped she didn't, as she definitely didn't have enough money for a dress like this. Glancing around the room she saw that the curtains around the window were already drawn, and she quickly pulled off her jeans and stepped into the dress. It was a beautiful silky material; she couldn't believe how nice it felt. Eagerly she took off her top and went to put her arms into the sleeves, but she immediately realised it was too small for her.

"Grrr! It really is like going shopping!" she muttered under her breath, very much put out. With the dress half-on, half-off, she turned back to the chest and selected another dress of a similar colour and tried again.

It was a good while before she found a dress that came anywhere near to fitting properly. She was quite frustrated by this point, so she'd given up trying for any particular style or colour and just pulled out dress after dress; this one was emerald green, much brighter than anything she'd usually wear, but she'd decided it wasn't worth the hassle of trying again. It wasn't bad at all though; it had long sleeves that seemed to open up from her elbow onwards, for which she was very grateful considering the bandage she was wearing. Looking around her she realised the mess she'd made; dresses were piled up all around her, and although they looked very comfortable, she somehow didn't think it would be appreciated if she left them like that. Reluctantly she began to fold them again and put them back in the drawers.

Finally the dresses were put away – not very neatly, but at least they were off the floor. Somewhat cautiously, she pulled the drape away from the door and headed back towards the room where she'd been sitting earlier, holding her jeans and t-shirt. Nobody seemed to be around, so she called out hesitantly.

"Um… Warden? Are you around? I found a dress…" She smoothed down the front of the dress self-consciously, wondering what on earth had possessed her to think she'd feel better in it than in her jeans. She hadn't worn a dress since the ball when she left school… what, three years ago?

"Ah, there you are," Gandalf smiled as he reappeared from outside. "I must apologise for leaving you; however, I think you can excuse an old wizard from a few of his mistakes on such a day as this. I see the Warden has found you a dress; a most appropriate colour too, I might add. Now, if you feel able, I think we might take another walk up to the Citadel, where I am sure you will be most welcome." He offered her his arm, and they walked out of the house again.

"I imagine you must feel rather lost," Gandalf said kindly as they climbed the streets, "But I assure you could not have visited this city at a better time. All the people are rejoicing, for there has not been a King for a thousand years, and now the King has returned, and the Enemy is defeated. However, I am sure you will learn of that in time; for now you must be properly introduced to the many lords who are gathered in this place. You will of course be an honoured guest; an ambassador as it were. Come; the King will be in his throne room now, and seated in the high throne where no man has sat for many a long year. If I may, I will act as your herald."

"Herald?" Helen snorted with laughter. "Why on earth do I need a herald? And why am I an honoured guest anyway? I'm not anyone special."

"Perhaps you have no important post as such in your home country, Lady Helen, but you are the sole representative of your people; that alone qualifies you for such honour. Even were this not so, I think the lords are owed something after you disturbed their celebrations this afternoon." At this Helen looked up at him, worried, but then she saw the twinkle in his eyes. "Do not be so anxious, my dear. There is nothing to worry about." With that he opened a door; they had been walking down a long passageway, and now they entered a long hall, the roof on black marble pillars, filled with people in fine clothes. At the end of the hall was some kind of platform, high, with many steps leading up to it; on the platform was a throne, and on the throne sat Aragorn.


	6. A Story

The throne was surrounded by important-looking people; there was the steward who had spoken to everyone outside the city, and Éomer, and the other man who Helen had seen twice but whose name she still didn't know; then, standing close to the steward, was a fair-haired woman who looked very much like Éomer. They were all dressed in beautiful clothes, but somehow seemed very relaxed. Helen could also see the four boys who had been outside; she wondered again what on earth their role was in the whole thing. Then she saw noticed two other… well, men she supposed, but odd men… one was short, not as short as the boys but still short, but with a very long beard, and the other was tall, blond, and strangely… ethereal? But she had no time for that; before she'd managed to sort her head out she was standing at the bottom of the steps, and all the people had turned and were looking at her curiously, several of them looking slightly relieved – she guessed that was due to the change of clothes.

"May I present the Lady Helen," said Gandalf with a sweeping bow and a twitch of a grin at the side of his mouth. "Lady Helen, may I introduce Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth." He gestured towards the previously-nameless man, who bowed. Helen forced a weak smile, then realised that they were all clearly waiting for something; confused, she bowed back, only just enough to be noticed, then looked at Gandalf for help. She was way out of her depth here. "The Lady Helen is unused to the ways of the West, I deem," Gandalf smiled, "But I am certain it will make no difference to her welcome here."

"No indeed," said the lady with a smile, picking up her long white skirts and moving down the steps towards them. "I for one, though I myself am not of this city, will vouch for that. I am Éowyn, and I am honoured to meet you." She took one of Helen's hands and held it between her own.

"Th-thanks…" mumbled Helen, turning slightly pink.

"Éowyn is the Lady of Rohan, and her deeds in recent times will be proclaimed across the lands for many years to come," Gandalf said. "Her brother you have already met; King Éomer, Lord of the Mark." Helen glanced up at Éomer, her face getting redder by the moment as she remembered their earlier meeting, but managed to nod her head at least. "This is the Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien." The Steward smiled at her; his eyes were gentle and kind.

Then Aragorn stood up from his throne.

"Lady, it is indeed an honour for me to welcome you to my kingdom; especially on this day, which I hope will stand forever in memory as a day of rejoicing. For though perhaps my own days as a wanderer are ended, it seems that perhaps yours have just begun; and I would ask to learn more of the lands from whence you came." Then he smiled. "But we will not be overly formal; come, the sun is setting in the east and a feast awaits us in the halls."

Éowyn turned back to Helen then with a smile, offering her arm to her.

"Come; I do not know precisely in which direction we are headed, but I am sure that we will not be led astray if we follow the crowds." Then she smiled in Faramir's direction, and Helen saw a kind of happiness in her eyes that she had seen only once or twice before; it was gentle and loving, and Helen felt a pang of sharp jealousy as she realised that the two of them shared something beyond anyone else's reach. She noticed too that although Aragorn smiled kindly at Éowyn, she seemed to ignore it and looked away, as if embarrassed. An affair gone wrong, maybe? But that didn't make sense; perhaps she'd just made a fool out of herself, like Helen had earlier, although somehow Éowyn didn't seem like the kind of person to do that. She gave a mental shrug though as Éowyn guided her out of the hall, following behind the small boys.

"I do hope this feast is up to feeding us four hobbits," said one of the boys, moving back to walk next to Éowyn – but as he turned Helen noticed that he didn't look like a boy at all up close, but rather like an unusually small and curly-haired man, and he was wearing armour of white and green. "I don't think they're quite used to our appetites, you know." Éowyn laughed.

"I am quite certain, Master Merry, that the lord Aragorn will have remembered. And where are your manners? You have not yet introduced yourself to the Lady Helen." Merry looked very abashed at this and immediately bowed to Helen with what could only be called a flourish.

"I am truly sorry, my lady, for my lack of attention to such an honoured visitor," he said, still bowed. "May I introduce my friends to you?" Helen laughed – it was such a strange picture, this miniature man coming over all gentleman-like and anxious to please.

"Please do," she said, trying not to giggle.

"My name is Meriadoc Brandybuck, Esquire of Rohan," he began, bowing again. "This," he said, tapping one of the others on the shoulder, "Is Peregrin Took, Knight of the City of Minas Tirith and of the Realm of Gondor, otherwise known as Pippin, or occasionally Pip." Peregrin-Pippin-Pip grinned at this; he was wearing black and silver, and there was a tree embroidered on his black coat.

"I am honoured to meet you, Lady Helen," he said, mirroring his friend's bow. "Frodo! Sam! Turn and greet this fine lady! You might be the most important hobbits in Middle-Earth, but you're not getting away with losing your manners!" The remaining two 'hobbits', as they seemed to be known, turned, and one glared at Pippin.

"Now don't you be getting all cheeky now, Pippin! Mr. Frodo isn't likely to be forgetting his manners in such grand company as we've managed to land ourselves in!"

"This," interrupted Merry, "Is Samwise Gamgee, or Sam as we like to call him; and Mr Frodo Baggins, the Ring-bearer." Sam turned red; the two of them bowed.

"How do you do, Lady Helen?" asked Frodo with a smile.

"Um… I'm… okay… pleased to meet you all," said Helen awkwardly. "Er… what's this whole ring thing about anyway?" She couldn't understand why all five of them, Éowyn included, laughed at this.

"That, Lady Helen, is a rather long story, which I am sure will be answered in good time," Éowyn said as they entered a large hall, with a huge table down the middle; Helen couldn't help thinking of medieval banquets. Well, she'd always wanted to go to one of those re-enactment things; this was probably a lot more realistic. "I am not certain where we should sit; there are so many honoured guests here." As it turned out though, it didn't seem to matter; Helen had always thought that the most important people sat at the head of the table, but everyone seemed to sit just where they wanted; she ended up sitting between Éowyn and Éomer - much to Helen's horror as she recalled again her behaviour in front of him and the other men. Faramir sat on Éowyn's far side, and she resigned herself to not talking much; she could easily imagine the two of them to be quite enough engrossed in each other; Éomer sat by Merry.

It didn't go quite as badly as she thought it might; Éowyn and Faramir seemed to be quite happy just sitting near each other, and when they did talk they often tried to include her. The problem of course was that they didn't know what to talk about – they were full of the joys of the coronation and Helen was still more than a little lost. They told her that there had been some bad guy called Sauron and that Frodo and Sam had taken his ring to a mountain and that as soon as the ring was destroyed Sauron died, but that didn't help much, and she was too self-conscious to ask. Éomer started to talk to her, asking her about where she came from, but she didn't know what to say – how could she compare it when she'd seen so little of this place? She did manage to stutter out an apology though:

"I'm – um – I'm sorry about earlier," she said, playing with her bread. "I, er, I wasn't in the best of moods, and I, um, think I was a bit rude." Éomer laughed.

"Do not aggrieve yourself with the memory, lady," he said, "For I am certain I would be no gentler were I myself uprooted from my land with no warning; indeed I imagine I might be considerably more vocal with my discontent than you were." Helen turned pink again.

"Yeah, well, I'm, I'm sorry anyway." She tried to think of something to change the subject, looking around the hall. "Um, so, what was this ring?"

"You choose a ripe subject for discussion, lady. It has been the source of all our hopes and fears for this year past; for it was lost by the Enemy, Sauron, many years ago, and was thought to have passed out of this world. By some chance, though, it was found; it came to Bilbo Baggins, who then passed it to his kinsman, Frodo. Gandalf discovered what it truly was, and it was decided in a great council that it should be destroyed. Then from Rivendell there set out a Fellowship of Nine – Frodo, and the other three hobbits; the King Aragorn, though in other guise than you see him in now; Legolas the Elf of Mirkwood; Gimli son of Glóin, dwarf of the Lonely Mountain; Gandalf, who was parted from the company early on; and Boromir of Gondor, who fell near the Falls of Rauros as the company travelled.

"Then the Fellowship went their separate ways; Gandalf was lost, Boromir dead; Merry and Pippin had been captured by the Orcs who killed Boromir. Frodo and Sam went on alone to Mordor, the land of Sauron; the others tracked Merry and Pippin across the plains of Rohan, my country. Gandalf returned; Merry and Pippin were found unhurt after my company destroyed the Orcs; their master, Saruman the wizard, was trapped in his tower of Isengard. Eventually the armies of both Rohan and Gondor fought and defeated some of Sauron's armies before this very city; then we rode to the gates of his fortress and fought once more. But we were saved by Frodo and Sam, who had by some luck unimaginable been able to destroy the ring. Sauron's fortresses collapsed and his armies fled."

Helen was entranced; none of it made a huge amount of sense to her – for a start this Sarman guy seemed to be everywhere at once – but it sounded like a pretty amazing tale. Éomer sighed.

"That is not a very full telling of a history which has changed the shape of the lives of almost all the peoples of Middle-Earth; other armies fought in other places, and other forces have been at work; but in short with the fall of Sauron a new age has begun. The King of Gondor and Arnor has returned. It will be many years before the hurts caused by the Enemy are even near to fully healed; for the Elves in particular it marks the end of their time on these shores. But there is peace on the horizon, at least in part."

The two of them sat in silence for a while; Éomer seemed lost in a trance both happy and sad, while Helen sat slightly shell-shocked. There was so much to take in, and so much to ask.

"What's Rivendell?" she said finally.

"Rivendell… ahh… I fear you ask the wrong person," he smiled in answer. "I myself have never been there, but it is a great place, the home of Master Elrond, an Elf of great renown. If you wish to know more, Gandalf is perhaps the most knowledgeable of those gathered here." Helen nodded.

"I think I'll ask him then. But what are Elves anyway? Are they like hobbits?" Éomer laughed, and Helen couldn't help noticing that it sounded rather like a roar – albeit a particularly nice one.

"I would not say that in front of either an Elf nor a Hobbit if I were you, lady; they are very different peoples. Elves – do you see over there?" He pointed some way down the table to where the short bearded man and the blond-haired one were sitting. "The blond one is the Elf, Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm. Elves are wise, and they are in many ways more gifted than mortals; they also have the distinguishing feature of pointy ears, or so I have gathered – I have met only three in my lifetime. The other two are over there," he said, gesturing towards the other end, where a group of men in dark clothing sat with two others, tall and dark-haired and with the same ethereal quality as Legolas. "They are Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Master Elrond of Rivendell, and they sit with the Dúnedaín, the Rangers – Aragorn is their chief. The red-haired man is in fact a dwarf, Gimli son of Glóin."

Intriguing though Helen found this subject, she didn't have time to follow it up; for at that point Aragorn rose, and with him everyone else in the room.

"Greetings, friends," he said, raising his cup. "I will not keep you long; I wish only to thank you all. Each one of you has played a part in bringing me to this kingship; though perhaps I have not always wished for it, I take my place willingly and I intend to do my utmost to bring true peace to the West." Lifting his cup, he bowed to the company. "May the blessings of the Valar be upon you all."

_Thomas: Thanks for your support. It's great to bring another person to the world of Tolkien ;-)_

_Eathlin: I'm so glad you liked it! I did consider asking Gandalf to pinch her, but then I thought, would you really ask Gandalf that? I thought not, and it seemed more extreme this way!_

_Southern Gaelic: Thanks again for reading it, is this a better length? I'd been thinking maybe they should be shorter rather than longer, but I guess not!_


	7. An Awkward Meal

The company bowed to Aragorn; Helen looked around her and made a clumsy attempt to do the same, but she was still mulling over what Éomer had told her. Clearly it would be a while before she could understand any of what was going on, but for now she decided not to worry about it. It didn't look like she'd be getting home any time soon, so she might as well enjoy it. With that thought, as she and the rest of the company sat down again, she drained her own cup, then shook her head vigorously as the taste hit the back of her throat. It wasn't that it tasted bad, but she'd been expecting it to – it was a yellowy colour and, not being a big fan of wine, she'd been preparing for a kick, but it really wasn't anything like that. It tasted quite sweet.

"Have you never had wine before, Lady Helen?" Éomer asked in an amused tone. Helen shot a glare at him as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then turned red – again – and muttered an apology. Éomer just smiled and refilled her cup, and Helen tried very hard not to glare again and simply sipped at her replenished cup in silence. As she did so she thought she could almost feel it running through her – it was a very odd sensation, but a nice one, and it relaxed her in a strange way. She felt suddenly at ease, which made her feel more uncomfortable in some ways, but she didn't seem to be able to do anything about it.

Platters of food were brought in then, all kinds of food; it certainly couldn't be called anything other than a banquet. Éomer took her plate, offering to serve her, but she shook her head again. She considered grabbing it forcefully, but decided maybe that wasn't the best way to make up for her behaviour.

"No, don't be silly," she said with an only slightly forced smile, "I can do it myself." She took the plate; Éomer shrugged and served himself. Helen, feeling suddenly very hungry, filled her plate with some of the nearest foods – some cold meat, bread and cheese. She could see hot food a bit further away, but she didn't really feel like asking for it; nor for the bowls of fruit – some kind she couldn't quite identify. Instead she made herself a sandwich and decided not to worry about whether that was quite what she was supposed to do with it. A general hush seemed to fall on the room as everyone set to eating – she could see the Hobbits piling their plates high with all kinds of food and generally giving the impression that they hadn't eaten for a week, while the Elves seemed much pickier, certainly not eating as much.

"So, um, question time again," she said, somehow not quite managing to stop herself, "What are the Valar?" Éomer laughed again – he seemed to be quite merry really – had he drunk a lot?

"That is a question which again, alas, I am not the most qualified to answer. But I shall attempt one: they are great spirits, beings; in early times they dwelt in Middle-Earth, it is said, but now they live far beyond the seas, outside the confines of this world. I am not quite sure what else one can say on the matter."

That, thought Helen, was one of the most unsatisfactory answers she'd ever had – after all, it had been fairly obvious that they must be some kind of gods, at least as far as these people believed. No doubt it was pure rubbish, but it was interesting anyhow – mythology always was. She was silent for a moment, but not for long.

"So you're a king, huh? That's pretty cool, what's it like?" At this Éomer sighed. Helen looked at him, surprised.

"Alas, Lady, that I should be king at all; I have been such for only a month, since the battle of the Pelennor, when Théoden, my King and also my uncle, fell to the Witch-King. Even then I should not be such, were it not for the death of my cousin Théodred, who fell only two months earlier in the fight with Saruman's armies. Such fortune that my sister should be spared! Indeed I thought her dead, for she lay cold and still; yet by the skill of the Lord – I mean King - Aragorn she was saved." He sighed again, and, not knowing what else to do, Helen laid her hand on his arm.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly, "I wouldn't have said anything."

"Nay, lady," he replied, shaking his head and forcing a smile. "Do not grieve overmuch. Both died with honour; I too would have been proud to die for such a cause." Despite his words, however, Helen noticed for the first time that there was a kind of sadness beneath his cheerful appearance. Suddenly feeling awkward, Helen moved her hand and went back to her food, and neither of them spoke for a while. She was very aware of Éowyn on her other side, talking quietly to Faramir, both of them occasionally laughing.

At last the meal seemed to end; at least, no more food was brought out. But nobody showed any signs of leaving, which irritated Helen just a little, having sat in silence for more than half an hour. She admitted to herself that in actual fact she didn't have a clue where she would end up afterwards anyway, but that didn't really seem very important. She squirmed in her seat, feeling stiff and uncomfortably full, and Éomer turned to her with a smile – which, she noticed, didn't seem to be entirely forced.

"Are you feeling restless, my lady?"

"Somewhat," she said, only just managing not to make it sound like a growl. The wine, it seemed, had most definitely worn off, and she was feeling rather fed up again.

"Perhaps you would like to take a walk?" he suggested.

"Well, yes, that would be nice… but it doesn't look like I'm allowed to leave," she said in a disgruntled voice, looking around the room. Éomer laughed at this.

"Of course you may leave if you so wish; the meal is ended and it is only desire for company that keeps us here. Would you like to be alone, or would you prefer a companion?"

"Erm… I… I don't really know where to go… but I'm sure… I'm sure I can manage…" She stumbled over her words, feeling very much like a little girl.

"Nay, you need not. I should be glad to accompany you, if you would find that acceptable?"

Gulping, Helen nodded. "Thanks," she muttered, knowing it sounded rather ungracious but not able to put it any other way. Smiling, Éomer rose and moved around her, touching his sister on the shoulder.

"Éowyn, I am going to accompany the Lady Helen outside; perhaps you could meet us in the courtyard later to show her to her chambers?"

"Certainly," replied Éowyn, smiling at Helen and looking slightly embarassed. "I fear I have neglected her this evening."

"No, no," protested Helen, much more embarrassed than Éowyn seemed to be. "I was fine."

Then, nodding to Faramir, who smiled back, and smiling at Éowyn, Éomer offered Helen his arm. She got to her feet quickly, feeling her face turn redder and redder, but although she wanted to refuse, she wasn't quite sure how, so instead she laid what was little more than a finger on his arm and let him lead the way from the hall.

_I'm really sorry that a) this has taken so long, and b) that it's not very long! With any luck I ought to be able to get back into the swing of things now! Hope you liked this chapter._

_Southern Gaelic: It's great to see that you keep reading this! Glad the last chapter was better, sorry this one's not… sheepish grin_

_Crecy: Glad you liked that bit about elves and hobbits! I have to admit that it was fun to write that!_

_Bob: Nice name ;-)_

_Ouch My Head: I'm sorry if it's too long! I have this thing about not skipping things though… I'm not sure whether it's a good thing or a bad thing, but it's kind of a habit!_


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